I just finished reading the book “Room.” It is a story about a mother who is held captive in a small confined space with her child for 5 years.
I did not want to read this book because I am already neurotic and worry about child molesters and kidnappers on the daily. I don’t need additional information to torture me at night (this is also why I can’t watch House or Intervention.)
Anyways it was very good – the mother and the boy made this “Room” their home – and sought comfort in aspects of the room and daily rituals.
I could completely relate to this.
Do you know how people like Elizabeth Smart get kidnapped and they don’t try to escape?
They have a condition called “Stockholm Syndrome”, where they relate to their captors and begin to feel comfortable in their role as prisoner and they are afraid to escape.
Yeah – I have that condition.
I am not comfortable trying to escape from my captors.
I have been held hostage for the better part of 6 years and have been forced to do things that I don’t want to do. I have been stripped of my freedom. I have been forced to be fat and wear clothes from the Old Navy. I have been forced to stay awake for ungodly amounts of hours and entertain small children that at times behave as though they are spawns of the devil.
And yet … I don’t try to escape.
When I had my first child I had a hard time adjusting to having a baby coupled with the fact that said baby was INSANE and never slept and never got tired and catapulted himself from his crib at a bizarrely young age.
I made sure that I would be dangerously close to being admitted into the nearest mental hospital by getting pregnant when ‘Crazy Pants” – was just 9 months old.
Basically what ended up happening was that when adults tried to talk to me from about January of 2007 until quite recently – I could barely respond and was in a complete fog.
I was a fat, hot mess – with very little control of the English language. When I could form sentences I could be heard saying my 3 favorite phrases which are: 1 – “I am going to open the door and throw myself into oncoming traffic.” (when I was in a car.)2 – “I am going to gouge out my eyeballs.” (when I was in a kitchen near a sharp object)3 – “Why is this my life?” (to any adult that would make eye contact with me when I was out in public) Then one Christmas when Michael was 3 and Sam was 1 1/2 Mr. Gaga (this is his new official name) surprised me with a 4 day/3 night trip to Vegas. Exciting, luxurious and decadant…yes. The plans were made to stay at the Bellagio hotel with dinners at Nobu and Spago, massages at the spa, lounging at the pool with drinks…. What more could someone want? Well someone with Stockholm syndrome is just fine staying home with her captors.
As the trip approached I became more and more distraught. I cried. I hyperventilated. I tried to cancel the trip. I was terrified that something would happen to us and my babies would be orphans. Plus I had never left them – and they would be with my in-laws the whole time. For reference about that SEE HERE. “All you do is complain that you never get a break and now you have a chance to relax and have fun and you are still not happy.” my husband said with disgust as he polished his Elvis sunglasses and steamed his clubbing shirt.(Oh by the way – research has shown that he DOES NOT have Stockholm syndrome.) “I know but it’s not worth it” I cried. (I literally cried for like 2 weeks prior to this trip – I was not well.) “It’s not like I am going on a business trip…..If I die in a plane crash – my kids will have to forever know that I am dead and left them to go to Vegas like a trashy 2-bit whore!!” I said throwing myself on the bed. My husband wouldn’t budge. “You need to take a Xanax.” my mother said unsympathetically when I would call her in hysterics.”No – I can’t.” I said flatly.”Why? You will feel so much better!””I need my anxiety……it is part of me.” I would say. I know.
Hardcore Stockholm in the house…… So we went – we survived the flight.I got there – I forgot I had children altogether – never even called to check in.I began to focus on how I could get a boob-job work as a burlesque dancer and only go home at Christmas. Then it was time to go home….back to reality….to my captors. So my 10 year anniversary is coming up and Mr. Gaga insisted on planning another trip. (Apparently my bitchiness and nagging has not deterred him from wanting to spend time with me.) At least the kids are older now – so that makes me feel a little better.But when I think of the pending trip – I start to get a pit in my stomach and a little bit of tightening in my throat……….gulp. I received no form of monetary compensation or product for this post. The opinions expressed in this review are my own and were not influenced in any way. I just really enjoyed the book “Room!”
But I will be reviewing another book towards the end of this week…. In the meantime – please click on the banner below to vote for me!!If people like me and think I am funny maybe I won’t be so insane…….